


Do I Wanna Know?

by Dragestil



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Anal Sex, Death, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4394882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/pseuds/Dragestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Smith just needs to be reminded of the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I Wanna Know?

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't found myself very capable of writing lately. So today I listened to "Do I Wanna Know?" by The Arctic Monkeys on repeat and hammered this out. Hope you all enjoy.

From the crooked corner of his effortless smirk, the barest hints of laughter escaped. His calloused fingers danced along a tilted neck to an exposed collarbone down and down to the smooth plane of a trim but clothed abdomen. He pressed the curve of a hip into his firm hand and exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. What would the others say?

The thought only thrilled him more, and he closed the gap between his body and the stranger’s, letting the scent of moss and still water hang around them like a cloak. He cast a gaze to the bathrooms in the corner of the club and inclined his head, eyes saying what his still smiling lips wouldn’t. The pretty young thing in his arms was all too eager to obey, to follow. It was almost heartwarming - or it would have been if he had any sort of heart for such things. He didn’t. Business was business, even as entangled with pleasure as his own was. He had plans for the lithe body attached to his by fingers intertwined with his own, pulling him past the jealous glances of other patrons. They’d have their turns if they were patient.

“Do you have-”

“Have everything you need,” he interrupted, pressing a hot kiss to that perfectly pale neck as they slipped into the single-occupancy restroom.

He locked the door without glancing away from his prey. His keys were an anchor in the pocket of his too tight jeans, and they tied him as surely to his home as to the dirty floor he was standing on. The mortal was so blissfully unaware of them, though, and it heightened the thrill. Sometimes he wondered if he’d grow tired of this - the thoughtless hunt, the meaningless capture, the cheap win. But the surrender - oh gods the surrender was always perfection. Already he had a keening body arching into his every touch, the wanderings of his fingers from shoulders to hips to firm arse. He inhaled and tried to keep the intent from his bright eyes.

With his victim’s eyes locked on his own, he flicked open the man’s fly and easily pushed his trousers and pants down, leaving nothing but pristine flesh. He wondered for not the first time if he would get to be someone’s one and only.

“Turn around, mate,” he breathed, voice rough and low, caught in his chest.

“Can’t I,” the thin male paused, desperately trying to access some sort of higher reasoning when his world was being reduced to the seductive figure in front of him. “Wanna...look at you.”

Smith chuckled and bent his head to momentarily capture trembling lips. He could almost taste the adrenaline. Drugs, booze, endless cigarettes - none could give the same feeling that this did. He unzipped his jeans and began stroking himself to hardness as he thought. Just once wouldn’t hurt, he wagered. Besides, it had been a while since he had a good fuck face to face. Usually at least one party was bent over. He smiled, full of questionable grace.

With his free hand, he pulled one of his prey’s legs up around his hip while he pushed the smaller man back against the wall. This close, he could feel the racing heart trapped in the other’s chest. Such a pity, he thought, that it would soon be still. He held the hot body closer as he lined up with a tight entrance. Water spilled from the sink beside them, and he wet one hand to slick himself. He pulled the man’s other leg up and around him as he thrust in, stealing away the pained groan with a hungry kiss.

It was hard to keep his focus with a desperate body writhing against him, with a lover’s gaze trying to bring him down. But no, no this was no lover. This was an offering, a victim. There was never any love with prey. He pushed in deeper and felt blunt nails trying to dig into his shoulders through his threadbare t-shirt. He thought of his lake, and the keys still gouging at his thigh.

“Smith!”

His head snapped to the door, still shut but he was certain not for long. He focused on the tightness in pit of his stomach, the coil that would bring everything to completion. He slammed into the man and ground him against the wall, drinking in the high and needy sounds spilling from the other’s mouth into his own.

“I swear to- Smith, you better hope that’s the best goddamn fuck of your life…”

“Why’s that?” he called, voice breathier than he intended and much more strung out than he’d hoped.

“Three guesses, sunshine.”

The kelpie groaned as he came to the sound of his partner’s voice being drowned out by the rush of water over his ears. There was little struggle from the man in his arms, so lost in his own orgasm and dubious magic that he missed the rising tide until it was much too late. He waited until the grip on his shoulders fell away and the throbbing pulse in the neck he kissed halted. It didn’t take long. It never did when he had things to attend to.

The temporary lake drained as quickly as it had appeared, and he carefully arranged the body on the toilet. If he was lucky, the other mortals would just assume he’d drank himself to death, or accepted one too many pills from strangers. Smith didn’t have time to stay and find out though, especially not as the door the bathroom unlocked and opened. He offered a sheepish grin to the shorter man glaring at him.

“Hey, Trott,” he said lightly.

“Keys. Now.”

The kelpie let out a low whine even as he tucked himself back into his trousers, buttoned them up, and fished out his keys. He walked over with his head hanging and handed his bridle over repentantly. He tried not to shiver at the way Trott’s deft fingers closed around the ring.

“Troooott,” he breathed, following hastily as the man began heading for the exit of the club.

“Don’t ‘Trott” me. What’ve we told you?”

“Not in public,” Smith muttered.

“And where were you?”

“A bathroom?” he offered to perhaps put off the inevitable. Dark eyes turned to catch him with a piercing stare, and he shrunk a bit. “A public bathroom…”

“Right. Why can’t you be good like Ross?” Trott sighed, running a hand back through his hair as the other pushed open the door. “Do you like causing trouble for us, sunshine? Or do you really just need to be punished?”

It took a moment for the words to register with Smith, but much less than that for the selkie to have his tallest partner pressed up against the brick wall just outside the club. The kelpie inhaled sharply as his hands instinctively moved to hold Trott’s hips. He had only just gotten off, but already he could feel desire burning low and tight in his stomach.

“Hands off.”

He bit back a whimper as his hands fell obediently away, fingers still twitching for a taste of the sweetest treat. He let Trott push up against him, pull his chin down for a demanding kiss, before spinning quickly away. His car was waiting at the curb, and the selkie effortlessly took the driver’s seat. It nearly drove Smith mad to walk around to the far side and slip into the passenger’s side. A hand was instantly on his thigh, groping upwards but never quite far enough. He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip.

“What are we going to do with you?”

“Take me for a beer and a quickie in the back of a pub?” Smith suggested hopefully.

Trott spun the kelpie’s keys around one finger as he seemed to ponder that option. After a moment, he caught them in his palm and shoved the proper one into the ignition, starting the car with a rumble. Smith wriggled in his seat and stroked absently at the armrest on the door. He would never get used to someone else - even someone he loved - driving his car, let alone being so thoroughly in control of his bridle. It stirred something deep inside him that he couldn’t help but find immensely attractive.

“That doesn’t sound like a punishment.”

“Doesn’t it?” he answered, too quickly to seem entirely collected.

“Not at all. Now be quiet until we’re home,” Trott said with the sort of finality that even Smith couldn’t argue against.

Only the dull mumblings of the radio broke the silence of their ride. The kelpie looked regularly from the steering wheel to the selkie holding it commandingly to the city outside the windscreen. His fingers gripped the armrest and his knee as he struggled to keep himself contained. Trust Trott to get him worked up and then tell him to shut up and sit still. He almost felt like crying with relief when at last they pulled up in front of the abandoned cathedral that was their home.

“We’re not home yet,” the selkie warned as he glanced at his eager lover. “Wait until we’re inside. And then we’ll see about punishing you right, sunshine.”

Smith nodded swiftly - whatever it took to hasten what he was sure would be the oncoming collision of their bodies. He didn’t even need the guiding hand that took his to head for the scaffolding up to their loft. He scrambled up and only thought to offer his lover a hand when he heard a very pointed cough.

“Trouble-maker and no manners,” Trott sighed.

Smith made sure to be as courteous as he could be the rest of the way up, always holding back the sheets of plastic that got in their way until the selkie had passed and giving his hand once he’d reached the top of ladders. He knew it was already well beyond the point of getting out of his punishment though. These weren’t reparations - they were proof that he was capable of behaving, reminders that he could and should be a good boy. The thought made him shudder as at last they clambered through the hole in the wall that opened into their makeshift flat.

“Clothes off and folded, then lay on your back on the mattress.”

“Where’s Ross?”

“Out. I didn’t tell you you could ask questions. Bed,” Trott said, voice calculated and precise, smooth and sharp as obsidian.

Smith obeyed even as he watched his keys slide down into Trott’s pocket - definitely beyond his reach. He stripped and pressed himself down onto the worn mattress. When the selkie stalked close and motioned for his arms, he didn’t even fight. They were soon handcuffed together with the chain behind one of the support beams. Apparently, tonight wouldn’t be a night where disobedience was even an option.

“Trott,” he whined, already breathless, as the other man’s hand brushed idly across his lower abdomen.

“Didn’t say you could talk either. Do you want me to make your bridle true to name?”

Smith shuddered, and Trott smiled, planting a kiss against the kelpie’s throat. The selkie moved to straddle the taller man’s thighs and stared pointedly into desperate eyes. He wrapped a hand around Smith’s hardening erection and flicked his wrist, wringing a bitten back moan from the other’s throat. He could see how hard the man was working to keep from begging. It was a gorgeous look, but he knew he could do better. After all, this was meant to be a punishment. And just not being allowed to speak was not nearly enough to earn repentance. He leaned forward to shower languid kisses across the man’s hips and stomach, pointedly ignoring his crotch.

“Here’re the rules, sunshine: No talking, no moving, and no coming until I tell you. You can do that, can’t you? You are a good boy, aren’t you?”

Smith nodded furiously even as Trott saw him struggling to contain words and lust. The kelpie’s entire body was taut and trembling beneath every touch. His hips twitched with every casual flick of the other’s wrist. His teeth dug into his lip harder as Trott shifted to stretch himself along the taller’s legs and pressed his lips to the head of Smith’s cock. A hiss slid between gritted teeth as he pressed his head back against the mattress to stare at the ceiling. He was sure this had to be a form of torture.

“Look at me,” Trott whispered, momentarily taking a break from what Smith was sure had to be the slowest and most drawn out blow job ever.

If it wasn’t torture before.

The kelpie obeyed as his nails cut crescents into his palms and the metal cuffs bit into his straining wrists. His eyes locked with the selkie’s as the smaller man swallowed around him. He was sure that even removed from what they were actually doing, the look in Trott’s eyes would have to be called obscene. He was shaking, and he knew it - but he hoped it wouldn’t be counted against him. He was long past the point of that level of self-control. It was taking everything he had just to maintain eye contact while not letting himself come. Finally, Trott seemed to take pity.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Please just let me get off, Trott,” Smith begged, far beyond dignity.

“Are you going to be good for me now, sunshine?”

“So good - fuck - the best - whatever you want, please.”

Trott smiled as he crawled up Smith’s body to plant a kiss just below the man’s ear.

“Come for me,” he breathed as he stroked quickly along the kelpie’s erection.

Smith let out a strangled cry of the selkie’s name as he finally let go. It felt like the entire ocean crashed around him and left him boneless against the mattress. He felt simultaneously weightless and impossibly heavy. He took shuddering breaths as he was vaguely aware of Trott cleaning him up, undressing, and sidling up beside him with a blanket. His hands were uncuffed and brought down to his chest where Trott pressed kisses to them before rubbing some healing salve on them.

“Still need to work on your struggling,” the selkie murmured, perhaps more to himself than his exhausted lover. He wrapped an arm around the man’s broad chest and settled his head against the taller’s shoulder. “Now go to sleep. Gotta get your rest before Ross comes home. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to help with round two.”

 


End file.
